


If I Were To Pluck On Your Heart Strings

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Slow Burn, Timeline What Timeline, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: ...would you strum on mine?Muriel and Julian are sent to the Sanctuary by Asra. Neither of them know what they’re getting into.





	1. Your Spirit Is Sweet, So Pull Off Your Sheet

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Owl City’s _Plant Life._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t want to talk, but it’s a conversation that needs to be had.

Muriel goes to the Sanctuary when Asra tells him to, because he knows that Asra is trustworthy. Asra is… important. Asra wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

Asra does everything he can to protect him.

 _“I won’t be there when you arrive,”_ Asra had told him, so Muriel isn’t as concerned as he wants to be when the Sanctuary is empty when he makes his way inside. Whether it means that Asra won’t be here at all, or that he’ll be arriving later, Muriel doesn’t know; Asra is often more cryptic than he means to be when it comes to protecting those he cares about, and that’s something that Muriel knows well.

It’s quiet when he arrives. Muriel places myrrh around the little house in the places that Asra asked him to, gentle fingers tucking the small pouches of herb into each room, on window sills and doorways. The entire place smells vaguely of myrrh when he’s done. It’s comforting.

Muriel assumes that’s why Asra asked him to do it.

Night is falling by the time the door creaks open, and Muriel is immediately on edge when a cloaked figure — _Asra doesn’t wear black, this isn’t Asra—_ slips inside and shuts the door with a soft click behind themself.

“Who are you?” Muriel says gruffly, and the figure freezes.

The light in the room is low, but that doesn’t mean Muriel can’t strive to recognise the figure that has just let themself into Asra’s Sanctuary. He’s been living in a low-light environment for years; his eyes are more than adjusted to identifying shapes, colours, _things_ , in the dark.

He recognises Julian Devorak a few seconds later, and his entire body coils with tension.

“Doctor Julian Devorak,” Julian says slowly, carefully, taking a step further into the light and confirming Muriel’s suspicion. “Asra sent me. I—“ Julian pauses, a look of muddied confusion on his face. He blinks at Muriel. “I know you?”

It’s phrased as a question, and for the first time in a very long time, Muriel wants to curse Asra for everything he’s worth. _This_ was the reason for the myrrh. _This_ was the reason Asra sent him here. Muriel still doesn’t understand _why_ Julian and he are both here at Asra’s call, but he _does_ know that it wouldn’t be beyond his friend to ask him to babysit the impulsive doctor.

“Asra sent you.” It’s not a question, and it’s not an answer to the one Julian asked him. Julian nods slowly regardless, and Muriel huffs in disgust and looks away.

“Who… are you?” Julian asks. There’s a shuffling sound, and Muriel looks up in faint alarm as Julian takes another step in his direction, and then another. He’s squinting, like that will assist him in figuring out Muriel’s identity, and Muriel doesn’t like how close he’s getting to him physically.

He takes a wide step back. Julian stops in his tracks.

“There’s a bed in the next room. Take it.” Muriel’s hand twitches in the direction of the room, and Julian’s features shift from suspicious to surprised.

“But—?”

“Go to sleep,” Muriel says, and turns away. He stays like that, staring at the counter, until he hears Julian sigh and leave the room.

Muriel is alone when he turns around again, but he can hear Julian breathing in the other room, along with the sound of travelling clothes being shed and hitting the floor, and he wishes desperately that he were as alone as he wanted to be.

* * *

 Morning dawns bright, with unfiltered sunlight shining through the uncurtained windows of the Sanctuary. Muriel is already outside when dawn breaks, tending to the succulent plants outside in the small garden he knows Asra planted with him in mind.

They’re sturdy plants. They don’t require much tending, but Muriel prefers their company to the option of the company inside the house, so he doesn’t move, even when the sun begins to warm the skin beneath his hood.

“You’re Muriel.”

Julian’s voice startles him, and Muriel whips around with a feral look on his face. He catches Julian’s eyes go wide with surprise and forces himself to school his features into something more neutral.

Julian seems to take a moment to steel himself. Muriel catches sight of his throat bobbing as he swallows. And then…

“You’re Muriel,” he repeats. When Muriel doesn’t react, Julian clears his throat awkwardly. Somewhere in the back of Muriel’s mind, there’s a spark of delight in watching the doctor squirm. “...Aren’t you?”

There’s no use in denying it, so Muriel nods, once, just a singular dip of his chin. Julian grins at once; Muriel is surprised by the way the smile takes over his features. Even with the patch over his eye, Julian looks ten years younger when he smiles.

“We’ve met before. I don’t know why I didn’t recognise you at first,” Julian says. Muriel’s throat is too tight for him to speak, but it doesn’t matter, because Julian is still talking. “You used to…” He squints, that same _trying to remember_ look he had on the night before. “Fight. In the coliseum.”

Muriel winces and abruptly turns away, reaching for the watering can he’d abandoned on the ground. There isn’t anything else that _needs_ the water, but Muriel needs something to do with his hands.

“Sorry,” Julian says, and he sounds like he truly means it, but Muriel doesn’t —can’t— look at him. “That’s a sore spot, I’m sure. If it’s any consolation, that time isn’t exactly a highlight of _my_ life, either.”

It isn’t any consolation. Muriel shakes the watering can; it’s still about half-full.

“Look, Muriel.” Julian lets out a heavy sigh, dropping the pretense of cheerfulness. “I don’t know why Asra told me to come here. Hell… I’m not sure why I actually _listened.”_

Muriel doesn’t look up. Asra can be _very_ persuasive.

“But I’m here,” Julian continues, undeterred. “And so are you. We might as well make the best of it, right?”

Water flows from the can to the dry-packed earth beneath the bed of succulents beneath it. They’re Portulacaria, with leaves packed tightly together to keep moisture from escaping. Muriel tilts the can back and closes his eyes. He imagines himself shrinking, until he can push himself in between the leaves and hide.

“Muriel.” Julian’s voice is more insistent, now, and _startlingly_ close. Muriel’s eyes fly open, his entire body jolting when a hand brushes against his right shoulder. He wrenches his shoulder away and takes a step forward before pivoting to face the other man.

Julian looks nervous, but he crosses his arms over his chest and stares up at Muriel despite it. If Muriel didn’t think he was such an idiot, he might actually admire the resolve in his eyes. It isn’t many that will stand up to _the Scourge_ , even when they _don’t_ know who he is or what he’s done in the past.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Julian says seriously, quietly. “If you have something against me, if I’ve—“ He swallows, and something _else_ flickers in his gaze, just for a second, before it disappears. “—if I’ve done something to you, then tell me so that we can work it through. I don’t wish to share quarters with someone who can’t stand me.” He smiles, wryly. “I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime.”

Something stirs in Muriel’s chest, something strange and wistful and warm. It feels similar to the feeling he gets in the forest, when he’s by himself with only Inanna for company, and he finds a rare flower growing out of season. It takes him a moment to place.

 _Admiration._ Begrudgingly, annoyingly, Muriel _admires_ the way Julian is speaking to him.

“...you don’t remember me,” Muriel says eventually, matching Julian’s quiet tone. Julian’s brow furrows.

“What do you mean? Of course I remember you. I just said—“

“No.” Annoyance replaces the admiration, which Muriel is much more comfortable with. “Not all of it.”

Understanding blooms like a rose over Julian’s face. “Oh.”

Muriel looks away from Julian to stoop and set the watering can down again carefully, lovingly stroking the handle before standing up straight once more.

“Obviously, there’s something I’m missing.” Julian hs obviously composed himself again. “If it’s something I did, though, Muriel, I would be honoured to correct it.”

“Honoured?” Muriel can’t help his surprise.

Julian looks a little pained. “Well… yes. I’m well-aware that there are… _things_ from my past that I’ve done that don’t beg pride. I don’t always make the best decisions… even now. But I’m doing my best to make up for it.”

Muriel frowns and ducks his head, stepping forward again to try and brush past Julian to head back into the house. If he ignores it, ignores Julian, then perhaps there’s a chance that this will all just go away.

To his great surprise, though, Julian stops him, pressing a hand against his chest so quickly it looks like he even surprises himself. Muriel blinks, stares at him, and Julian stares back. Julian is… taller than Muriel gives him credit for. He forgets that Julian is the only one even close to rivalling him in height until they’re standing face to face like this.

“Please,” Julian says. It’s a _plea_ , and it makes Muriel’s throat feel tight all over again.

“You were in love with Asra.” It drops like ash from Muriel’s lips, unbidden save for the fact that he’s thought about this conversation a hundred times, a thousand times before.

Julian’s fingers twitch against Muriel’s bare chest. His face immediately goes red, and he bites his lip. But he doesn’t deny it.

“I was… once,” he says softly. “I wish I hadn’t been.”

_I wish I wasn’t._

Julian doesn’t say it, and Muriel doesn’t say it, but it hangs in the air between them.

“Were _you_?” Julian asks hesitantly, like he’s afraid the question will frighten Muriel off. Muriel looks down, down at the hand on his chest, down at the fingers that have curled slightly against the chain he doesn’t ever take off.

“Once.”

“I’m sorry.”

Julian jerks his hand back quickly and shoves it over his mouth. When Muriel looks back up, Julian seems _mortified._ For once, though, Muriel doesn’t feel compelled to see the stupid side of Julian’s actions. Instead, he nods grimly, lips pressing into a thin line.

“We were both fools,” he says, and Julian’s hand lowers from his mouth slowly, revealing a face still as red as the sunset on a stifling summer day.

“Were we?” he asks, and Muriel takes a deep breath. Lets it out.

“It’s hot out here,” he says without answering, but he gestures towards the doorway with a jerk of his head before he successfully brushes past Julian. Julian doesn’t stop him this time; Muriel hears him following behind, the dry ground crunching underneath his feet.

Muriel sits on the couch in the main room gingerly, and when Julian sits down, he doesn’t look over. Instead, he looks at the ground, at the scuffs on the worn flooring, at the black of Julian’s shoes against the tan beneath them.

“...I met Asra when we were both children. I was considered his friend. A… confidante. Nothing more. You came along. He didn’t love either of us. He only had eyes for…” Muriel trails off. He has no doubt that Julian knows where he’s going.

“Right.” Julian’s voice is small. Muriel doesn’t want to acknowledge it, so he keeps staring at the floor. His throat is still tight.

It’s difficult to find the words, despite the number of times Muriel has gone over and over and over with himself about this. He steels himself.

“I warned you against falling in love with him.” He speaks in short, clipped words, forcing speech out through the blockage in his throat. “You didn’t like that.”

“I was jealous,” Julian says, his voice trembling. Muriel presses his lips together hard. “I was jealous, and angry, and… I knew you were right.” His voice cracks on _right_ and Muriel’s chest constricts empathetically before he can check the emotion.

Julian clears his throat. “I… remember.” There’s a half-second’s pause. “I’m sorry.” He sounds _raw_ , like he’s in physical pain, being laid bare, and it’s the only reason Muriel finally lifts his head. He drags his gaze upright to find Julian staring intently at him, leaning forward on the couch, hand halfway raised like he’d started to reach out and then stopped himself. “I’m so _sorry_ , Muriel.”

A burn, steady and sharp, settles itself in Muriel’s nose and lingers just behind his eyes. He recognises the sting of unshed tears without a question. After years of putting the blame on Julian, on his trauma from the coliseum, on the treatment he’d received from Lucio… It _hurts_ to realise the truth.

There’s a great amount of pain that stems from Asra, and until this moment, Muriel is positive he’s never allowed himself to acknowledge it before.

“Don’t,” he says. It’s thick in his mouth, molasses that’s gone bitter and sticky. Julian’s hand finally drops out of the air and lands on his knee, and Muriel stares at it. The point of contact isn’t uncomfortable, but it _is_ strange. People don’t _touch_ him, not without… cause.

This is without any cause Muriel has ever experienced before.

“You were trying to help, and I fucking blew it. I should have listened to you.”

“No.” Muriel shakes his head like Inanna when she’s gotten something in her ear, one quick flick to the side. “Asra is…” Deceptive. Difficult. Beautiful. Dangerous. “...a dream,” he finally settles on, because it’s the only thing that doesn’t make the hurt in his heart worse immediately. Julian’s hand tightens on his knee, long, slender fingers shaking just enough for Muriel to feel. “I shouldn’t blame you for that.” He has, for _years_ , and it’s a strange weight off his shoulders that he hadn’t even realised was there to absolve Julian of guilt like this.

He can’t bring himself to blame Asra for anything, because Asra is… _Asra_ , and that’s all he’s ever been. Clever, mysterious, _dangerous_ Asra, who would do anything for his friends but would only give his all to the one person he’d fallen in love with in return.

Julian holds onto him, and Muriel doesn’t move away. His chest feels heavy and light at the same time, and he wonders briefly if this is what dying feels like. No. This is torture. Dying is… much more likely to be a blessing than a curse.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Julian finally croaks out shakily. Surprised by the change of topic, Muriel can only give another negative shake of his head. The chain around his neck makes a quiet _tink_ ing sound against itself.

Julian squeezes his knee just a little more before letting go altogether. “Well. I’m not the greatest chef in Vesuvia, but I know how to make a mean plate of eggs. I checked the kitchen before I went to find you outside… It’s stocked to the brim.”

 _You’re going to be here for awhile,_ a voice that sounds like Asra murmurs inside his head. Muriel acknowledges it without any physical indication of doing so while nodding slowly to Julian.

“If you do not wish to cook, I—“

“No, no.” Julian grimaces, and then smiles. It’s too-bright, too-quick. Fake. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s my pleasure. Really. My… treat.”

“...Alright,” Muriel agrees quietly, and Julian claps his hands together and jumps up off the couch to prepare their meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve actually finished all three chapters, but I’ll be updating it in a couple days or so, just so I can feel productive ;)


	2. And Give Me a Ghost of a Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More conversations, more things left unsaid. Surprisingly less left unsaid than you’d think.

They settle into a steady rhythm after a few days of  _ awkwardlynervouslycarefully _ dancing around things like meals and sleeping and conversation. Muriel wakes in the morning, earlier than Julian, and tends to the garden outside. When he finishes, Julian is awake and in the process of making breakfast for the both of them. 

Julian makes conversation while he cooks. Julian makes conversation no matter  _ what _ he’s doing, Muriel is quick to learn. He likes to talk, and even if Muriel gives him nothing to respond to, he keeps  _ talking. _

“It’s warmer here than it is in Vesuvia,” Julian says, flipping the pancake he’s currently working on making. It  _ splats  _ down against the pan; Muriel resists the sudden, strange urge to check if Julian managed to miss getting hit by the hot batter.

Of all the things Julian could have picked to talk about, he’s chosen the  _ weather.  _ Muriel feels like screaming. 

“Of course, even Vesuvia is warm compared to Nevivon,” Julian continues, obviously unaware of Muriel’s annoyance. Unaware, or… simply ignoring it, because the doctor has apparently decided that Muriel’s bark is worse than his bite. “If anyone ever asked me for the definition of  _ cold _ , I’d point them to Nevivon and then sprint the other direction as fast as I could. Have you ever been?”

“...no.”

There’s a scraping sound as the wooden spatula grates against the pan. “I don’t blame you. It isn’t all bad, though. Sometimes, the snow is just the right amount of sticky, and you have enough layers on to make snowmen. And snowwomen, I suppose. My sister was always a fan of making snowwomen. She’d throw snowballs at me and the other children if any of us dared to question her.” Julian chuckles. It’s a nice sound, Muriel thinks, and then immediately frowns to himself. 

He  _ refuses _ to get attached.

“When the snow is too dry, though, it’s a bitch to get through.” Muriel is watching Julian, now, because if he doesn’t focus on  _ something,  _ he knows he’s bound to get lost in thought. Thinking is dangerous, with his thoughts so wrapped up on Julian in front of him. Julian glances over and meets his gaze. Surprise catches on his features for a moment; it’s obvious he hadn’t expected Muriel to be looking his way. Julian’s emotions are so obvious on his face, all the time. It’s easy to read him. 

Too easy. Dangerously easy. 

And then, a smile slips over Julian’s lips, small and cautious. Muriel doesn’t smile back, but he can feel his gaze softening despite his best efforts to keep his own features impassive. Julian’s smile grows wider, pleased. 

Muriel looks away. 

The sound of the scraping spatula rings out in the momentary silence of the room again moments later, and then Julian is crossing the room with a plate and handing it over to Muriel. Muriel accepts it carefully, large hands flat for the plate to rest upon. Julian brushes his fingers over Muriel’s before he darts away, back to the stove, and Muriel is left blinking down at pancakes saturated in more maple syrup than any being should ever consider putting on anything edible, wondering if the touch had been offered with purpose, or if he is simply reading into the little things Julian does because he is growing more comfortable with his presence. 

As…  _ enigmatic  _ as Julian is, Muriel can no longer summon up any amount of hatred for him. Their lives have adjusted to each other much too quickly and much too  _ simply  _ for that. 

There is a weight to Julian’s gaze, though, in moments that Muriel is sure Julian thinks he isn’t looking. Muriel will pretend not to notice Julian staring at him, gaze roaming with a desperate sort of need to memorise Muriel’s features. 

Like now. Muriel takes a slow, careful bite of his syrup-soaked breakfast and pretends not to see Julian watching him, hawk-like in his sudden, apparent desire to take in Muriel’s caution. 

Dancing around such subjects is no way to live. Muriel has never been good at dancing. He’s much too large and clumsy for it. He winds up stepping on the feet of his partners —and by  _ partners,  _ he really means  _ Asra,  _ because Asra is the only one who’s ever pulled him to his feet and gotten him to let his guard down enough to attempt it— and causing more harm than fun. While there’s no physical act involved, Muriel feels much the same about this strange give and take that’s settled itself between himself and Julian. 

So when Julian finally takes a seat on the couch with his own plate of just-as-drowned pancakes, Muriel turns to him with his jaw set in determination. 

“Why do you keep staring at me?” There’s no anger or accusation in his tone; Muriel is  _ very  _ careful to keep his voice as neutral as he possibly can. He doesn’t want to frighten the doctor off —if such a thing is even possible, which Muriel is honestly unsure of at this point in time— or make him nervous, but he  _ wants  _ an answer. 

(He might even go so far as to say that he  _ needs  _ an answer, because the way Julian stares makes his chest go tight and his face feel warm, and he isn’t quite sure what to make of either sensation to even begin with.) 

Julian, halfway through shovelling a very large chunk of pancake enthusiastically (and indelicately) into his mouth, chokes immediately on the overly-ambitious bite. He coughs and splutters, and Muriel’s eyes go wide before he immediately begins rubbing at Julian’s back in an attempt to soothe the spasming of his throat. 

“What?” Julian finally croaks out, when he’s seemed to decide that he’s sufficiently alive enough to reply. Muriel keeps his hand resting lightly on Julian’s back, just in case. 

“...You keep staring at me.” 

Julian reaches up and swipes at his eyes and nose in a quick, practiced motion. Sympathy stirs somewhere in Muriel’s gut, along with a healthy swirl of guilt; perhaps next time, he’ll wait until Julian is  _ finished  _ eating before starting a conversation with him

“I’m not.” The response, still raspy and a little weak, comes far too quickly to be true. “I don’t.” Less than a second after the words leave him, Julian winces. “I… alright. You caught me.” He clears his throat, and Muriel rubs his thumb briefly, gently, along Julian’s spine before stilling his hand once more. 

When Julian continues, he sounds more like himself. “Look, Muriel. You— You and I are a lot alike.” Muriel… isn’t sure where Julian is going with this. He frowns, but doesn’t interrupt. “We both have had… our issues in the past, with both each other and with—“ He looks like he’s trying to act casual. “—you know. Asra.” Oh. Muriel’s stomach flips. He regrets eating his entire sugar-laden pancake. “So know that I hold you in the highest regard possible and that I am saying this for both of our well-beings when I tell you that I’m incredibly sorry, but I’d rather keep this matter inside of my own head.”

It’s an ironic twist, one that Muriel isn’t expecting. As far as he’s aware, Julian Devorak isn’t usually a man to back down from a challenge. In fact, Muriel has seen him face any and all challenges head on with a laugh and a cocky tilt of his chin. For Julian to suddenly clam up like this… It suggests that there is something far worse going on than Muriel expects. 

He draws his hand away very slowly from Julian’s back and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s more of a fight than usual to keep his features blank. 

“I’ve done something wrong.” It isn’t a question. 

Julian flinches like Muriel has physically assaulted him, his face crumpling into something desperate. “No, that’s not— It isn’t that.” He breathes out harshly in a  _ hoooo _ before scrubbing both of his hands over his own face. 

Muriel hasn’t moved. He refuses to move, actually, until Julian either explains himself further or actively pushes him away. 

“ _ Why  _ is this so difficult?” Julian mumbles into his palms. He drops his hands. “Okay. Alright.” When he looks up into Muriel’s face, his cheeks are flushed red and his eye is bright, like he’s caught something of a fever. “You are a  _ very  _ attractive man, Muriel, and I very much enjoy looking at you, which is why you’ve caught me staring,” he explains, all in one messy rush of breath. 

It’s all Muriel can do to blink at Julian, who’s looking back down at the floor again. Confusion wars with disbelief immediately. There is… absolutely no way Julian has just called him attractive. Or that he’s blushing because of their proximity, or that the reason Julian has been staring at him is because of any  _ positive  _ reason. Muriel is well-aware that he is strange-looking by most standards. He has come to terms with that, even if it isn’t always the most encouraging knowledge to be aware of. 

Julian seems to take the nonresponse as a bad thing, because he gathers up his own plate as well as Muriel’s and jumps up to bustle back into the kitchen before Muriel can even think about saying something in response.

“You don’t have to do anything about it, of course,” he continues, because if Julian is good at anything, he’s good at spouting nonsense to fill Muriel’s silences. Muriel doesn’t hate it quite as much as he might have before they’d both ended up here together. “Not that there’s anything to be done! You’re an attractive man, all tall and broad-shouldered and muscular. There’s no shame in admitting that, is there?” Julian lets out a nervous laugh. “You deserve to know, and all. Although you probably know it already. You’ve probably got admirers flocking in from all over the continent to get a glimpse of you.” 

Nobody, not even Asra, has ever attempted to describe Muriel in any similar manner as this. Asra has always called him a gentle giant, with a fondness laced behind his tone, but that fondness was as familial as it was disappointing. The people of Vesuvia… had always been quick to label him as a threat, the Scourge, a heathen of the coliseum.  _ Attractive  _ was not a word Muriel has ever associated with himself.

That alone makes Julian’s current babbling more intriguing than anything else he could have possibly been saying. In addition to it, though, there’s a strange warmth rising in Muriel’s cheeks. It feels as though it’s running up straight from his chest, where he knows his heart lies underneath various worn straps of leather and chain. Julian is unerringly  _ endearing,  _ which is not a word Muriel would have associated with him before this entire experience, but which  _ is  _ a word he never wants to apply to anyone else in his life again. 

Muriel is standing before he’s aware of his decision to move, and he pads quietly into the kitchen, footsteps masked by the clattering of their breakfast dishes and the continued comforting cadence of Julian’s voice. 

“--and so I figured, hey, why not?” Julian is saying when Muriel tunes back in to process the words he’s saying. “After all, the next time I meet a tall, dark, and handsome stranger on the street, they might not be so--  _ Ack _ !” 

Muriel has to fight the urge to smile, mostly because he knows the expression will feel foreign on his face. He doesn’t like the way it feels when he smiles. Julian is staring at him and looking absolutely stricken, and Muriel isn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard him get up. He can’t deny that he wasn’t  _ trying  _ to go unheard, if only to get one-up on Julian to get him back for suddenly rendering him so useless before with the confession of how apparently  _ attractive  _ he found Muriel. 

“Can I do anything to help?” Muriel asks, his voice as low as ever. He watches, this time, with sharp eyes as Julian blushes and swallows and looks away. 

“...You can get some more water from the well, if you’d like,” Julian eeks out after a moment of silence between them, and Muriel nods once and goes to do what he’s been told. 

Maybe getting attached isn’t such a bad thing, after all. (Muriel ignores the little voice in the back of his head warning him against such things; Julian isn’t Asra. Things can be different.) 

He hopes this will be different. 


	3. Just Grin and Bear It Awhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have another (yet another) conversation, this time with considerably better results.

A week passes. Muriel is the same as he always has been and Julian doesn’t change, but somehow, something has shifted between them. Julian doesn’t look away when Muriel catches him staring, and Muriel finds himself staring, too, caught in the moments of silence when Julian is casting about for a new subject to debate with himself about. (He tries to pull Muriel in, to get him to join the very one-sided conversations, but Muriel is much more content to keep his silence.)

(There’s a small, quickly-growing part of him that likes the way Julian’s lips purse into a pout when he doesn’t get his way, too, which only strengthens his resolve to let Julian speak without interruption.) 

There isn’t any contact from Asra, or anyone else outside of the Sanctuary, but Muriel forces himself not to worry. If something was really, truly wrong, Asra would come for them. He would tell them. He would do  _ something  _ other than to leave them in the dark. 

Muriel convinces himself of it, just like he convinces himself of how much Asra cares. He has to. 

Julian is annotating some medical tome when he brings it up, casually enough that Muriel sees right through it. It’s astounding, how easily he can read Julian’s thoughts and pick his emotions apart, just from the short amount of time they’ve spent trapped here in the Sanctuary together. 

“Do you think we’ll be let in on the secret?” Julian asks, flipping a page in his book. Muriel, who is weaving the leaves of one of the hardier succulents together into one strand of what he hopes to at some point soon make into a basket, glances down at him curiously.

Julian looks up to meet his gaze, and his cheeks go pink when he finds Muriel already looking at him, but he doesn’t look away again immediately. “From Asra, I mean. Whatever’s going on that he’s left us out here for?”

Muriel gives a soft, noncommittal hum. Julian has a spot of jam on the corner of his lips, just past where he’d likely been able to reach with his tongue. It’s more distracting that Muriel expects it to be, but he isn’t complaining. 

A frustrated sigh hisses its way out from between Julian’s teeth. “I just wish he’d tell us  _ something,”  _ he mutters. He ducks his head, sticking his nose back into the book. Muriel stares for another half-second before returning to his braid. 

And then, so quietly Muriel nearly misses it, Julian adds, “If I stay here any longer, I’m going to do something stupid.”

Muriel fingers stutter against the plant matter in his hands. “What?” he asks, immediately. Julian makes a choking sound, like he’s swallowed the wrong way.

“I didn’t— You weren’t supposed to keep listening!” he protests. 

Muriel lovingly smooths the braid down before setting it aside on the couch. He looks down at Julian again, sprawled out on the floor with his head still shoved in his book, and lets a frown settle over his own features. 

“I like listening to you. Why would I stop?”

Julian’s reaction is that of a bashful child. He glances up from beneath his lashes at Muriel, like he can’t quite believe he’s heard what he’s heard, and then bites his lip. “ _ Muriel,”  _ he says, and it’s a damn whine that shouldn’t be as unnervingly sexy as it winds up being. “You can’t just  _ say  _ things like that.”

Muriel fights the urge to fidget. He fights the urge to do  _ anything,  _ actually, choosing instead to deepen his frown into something questioning and continue to stare at Julian. It’s gotten harder to control the urge to talk, to reply, to respond. Julian brings out a talkative side of himself that he’s never known before, and it’s… scary and exhilarating, all in one. 

Julian groans. He sits up from his sprawl and shuts his book with a snap, pushing it aside until it’s nearly underneath the couch. “Stop that,” he chides, and Muriel isn’t sure what he’s being reprimanded for, so he doesn’t do anything differently at all. Julian isn’t even looking at him, anyways. 

Instead, Julian gets to his feet and then joins Muriel on the couch, careful to sit on the side opposite where Muriel has set his braided plant. Their legs and shoulders touch when Julian settles; neither of them make any move to change it. 

“Hello,” Julian says, turning so he’s facing Muriel. Muriel automatically mirrors his position, and now they’re looking at each other properly, head-on, staring into one another’s eyes like the staring has never been any issue between them at all. 

Something seems to crackle in the air around them. It’s not magic, and Muriel is well-aware that it’s not something tangible, either. The only thing he can compare it to is the first time he and Asra were both old enough to understand that cuddling the way they did as children wasn’t as  _ acceptable  _ to do as adults, but they’d done it anyways. 

It hadn’t been like this, though. Especially because Asra hadn’t been breathless and wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, or staring at him like he’d hung the universe. 

“I’m going to do something that might be very stupid,” Julian states, in that same breathless tone of voice. Muriel can hazard a guess at his thoughts, but the reality of the situation doesn’t hit him until Julian’s fingers are pressed gently against his cheek, silently instructing him to shift his head to the side. 

When he complies, Julian leans in and touches his lips to Muriel’s, and Muriel’s eyes slide shut of their own accord. 

The kiss is as tender as it is careful. Muriel is inexperienced in this, as he is in many things, and Julian seems like he’s waiting for Muriel to push him away. (Together, it makes sense— if their experiences thus far have been Asra’s doing, it’s no wonder that neither of them can further the kiss without thought.)

“That wasn’t stupid,” Muriel says, as soon as Julian’s lips have left his own. It’s gravelly and low, a rumble of breath that hits Julian’s lips when it leaves Muriel’s. His eyes are still closed. 

Julian’s thumb traces his cheek, moving reverently over scarred, leathery skin. “Thank  _ god,”  _ he murmurs. “I was afraid I was going to scare you off.” 

_ It takes more than that to frighten me,  _ Muriel thinks, but doesn’t say. In truth, the strength and depth of his steadily-developing emotion for Julian  _ does  _ scare him, but he refuses to allow that fear to govern his life. Not with Julian in front of him, touching him so tenderly. Not with an opportunity to experience what might possibly become  _ love  _ so close at hand. 

Muriel doesn’t say any of this out loud. Instead, he leans in again, and meets Julian’s lips in another kiss. 

It doesn’t matter that they’ve not had word from anyone outside of the Sanctuary. Finding each other is more important than any news Asra could possibly bring them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spider-ham voice* that’s all, folks
> 
> I want you all to know that this fic was actually inspired by a couple of dialogue lines from the game!! The first was the Heart Hunter bit where Julian and Muriel are in the Sanctuary together. 
> 
> _Julian: Isn’t it nice that Asra invited us both here?_   
>  _Muriel: ................_
> 
> And the second was in-game in Muriel’s route (SPOILERS FOR MURIEL’S ROUTE) when you’re in the hut with Muriel for the first time and talking to him. 
> 
> _Muriel: He confessed to something he didn’t do? What an idiot._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


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